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She found that they had arrived at the opposite bank.
"You're such a silly!" he said contemptuously. "If you'd been game, we would have gone for a long row. Now, come on out! Here, I'll catch hold of you!"
Poor Christina could hardly believe she was safe on land again. Her cheeks were white, and she was trembling from head to foot. Dawn looked at her curiously.
"I believe you've been seasick," he said. "That's how Aunt Rachael looks when she goes on the sea."
They found the other shore not so pleasant as it looked in the distance. The ground was marshy and covered with bramble bushes. It looked like a rough common and stretched away out of sight, with no house or building to break its monotony.
"I think," said Dawn meditatively, "if we go up to that signpost, we shall find which is the nearest village. We could go and buy some sweets in a shop. That would be first-rate!"
They set off across the common, and Christina began to cheer up. By the time they reached the signpost she was quite ready for any adventure that might befall them, and Dawn's fertile brain was inventing rapidly a hundred possibilities.
"Here is the first one!" said Dawn, waving his hand impressively. "A gipsy, who has run away with a little girl! He is asleep, and it is our duty to deliver her."
For a moment Christina thought it might be truth. There, lying face downwards on the grass, was the figure of a burly man. A little girl was sitting by his side, and a few yards off an old horse was grazing. He had been unharnessed from a small cart, which seemed full of tinware and crockery.
Christina looked at the little girl with the deepest interest. She had a clean face, and her hair was plaited in two tails down her back, but a red handkerchief was tied round her head instead of a hat, and her dress was very patched and ragged.
Dawn looked up at the signpost, then at the man lying underneath it.
"Is he your father, or has he stolen you?" he asked the little girl bluntly.
"He's my father, and wot's that to yer!" the child answered shrilly.
Christina shrank back frightened at her tone, but Dawn laughed.
"I expect you're having a picnic like us. My dad has got a horse and cart over in those woods. Have you had your dinner?"
"No."
The little girl's face changed. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she sprang to her feet.
"I be mortal hungry, but I can't move dad; he be taken bad, and he have laid there for hours. Do 'ee try and wake of him up, will yer?"
Dawn willingly agreed to try. He took hold of him by the shoulder and shouted in his ear; the man groaned and moved his head, but he did not seem able to raise himself.
"I think he wants a doctor," he said at length. "Shall I fetch my dad to him?"
"No," said the little girl quickly; "he don't want no doctors nor gents, 'tis his drink: he will have it, and 'tis no good my tryin' to keep him off it. Mother didn't know as 'twould be so awful hard!"
Such a sad look came into her dark eyes that Christina moved nearer her. In a few moments both little girls were talking confidentially together. The child's name was Susy, she told Christina, her father was a hawker, and her mother had died only a few months before, from a blow her husband gave her when he was the worse for drink.
"We has no home," Susy said; "we goes all over the country. Dad is very rough at times, but when he's off the drink he's awful kind. It's a deal better to have him stupid like this than when he knocks me about. I s'pect I shall go like mother did. I've been to 'ospital twice, but 'e don't mean nothin' by it!"
Christina was shocked and terrified.
Susy added:
"I think dad be real bad too this time, for he pitched out o' the cart on his 'ead; but he never wants no doctors!"
"Aren't you very, very frightened of him?" Christina asked.
And Susy laughed.
"Frightened o' dad? Sakes, no! But I be mortal hungry, an' we ought to be movin' on."
Dawn at this moment caught sight of a man in the distance. He shouted to him, and when he came up, he soon got Susy's father in a sitting position.
"Dead drunk!" he remarked. "Not much else the matter with him. Here, my lass, I can lift him in the cart if you can drive him on to the next town. Can you do it?"
Susy nodded.
The man called to a mate of his who was approaching, and together they hoisted the hawker into his cart. The old pony was put in, and Susy clambered up.
Dawn and Christina watched the proceedings with the greatest interest. Then Christina went up to the cart.
"Susy, if you ever come to Hatherbrook village, you must come and see me, will you? I'm sure father or mother would buy some of your things."
Susy nodded knowingly.
"I knows yer name, an' I won't forget. We went to Hatherbrook las' year, and I s'pect we'll be comin' around there soon."
Christina looked upon her with the greatest admiration as she drove away, and Dawn exclaimed ecstatically:
"That's how I should like to drive through the world with dad!"
"She's a very brave girl," said Christina, with a little sigh, "and she's only one year older than I am! She would have made a better Maclahan than I do!"
"Well, that adventure is not very exciting; let's come back to our wood, Tina."
Christina followed him silently down to the river again. Her fears returned, and when Dawn excitedly pointed out to her a man rowing along in the very boat in which they had come over, she was more glad than sorry. Dawn hailed the man, but he only turned and shook his fist at him, and rowed on faster than ever.
"I'm afraid it belongs to him, Tina. Whatever shall we do? How can we get across?"
"I expect there's a bridge somewhere," said Christina cheerfully.
"There mayn't be a bridge for miles. Well, this fun; I shall have to swim across."
"But you won't leave me?"
"Can't you swim? What a pity. I know! There's sure to be a ford somewhere: we'll wade across. It won't be very deep."
This was worse than a boat to poor Christina. She felt inclined to cry, and had to battle with her tears.
"It's all coming like the 'Pilgrim's Progress,'" she thought miserably to herself; "and if I have to go through the water, I know I shall die!"
Her little face was the picture of woe, as she stumbled through the long grass after Dawn.
"Oh, I wish, I wish we hadn't come, and it's getting dark already!"
"I believe it is. It gets dark at four o'clock now, and dad will be waiting for us. I wish those men hadn't gone off. Look there, Tina! Isn't that a cottage? We'll go over to it and ask how we can get across."
Dawn spoke gravely, and when he was grave, Christina knew the case must be bad indeed.
"Oh," she said to herself, "I must ask God to help us; Miss Bertha would tell me to. He will keep us safe, I'm sure He will."
So when they finally arrived at the cottage, Christina let Dawn go inside, whilst she knelt down by a hedge, and asked God to forgive them for having used a boat that was not theirs, and help them to find a bridge close by.
"For, please God, I'm so frightened of a boat," she added; "and if you could make a bridge, it would be so nice; and help me to be brave, and don't let me have to go through the river like Christian did!"
Then she repeated her text, and found comfort at once from it, as she generally did.
"I WAS MADE RICH TO HELP THE POOR"
MR. O'FLAGHERTY did not miss the children till the light began to fade. He was quite wrapped up in his picture, and when he whistled to them, he expected that they would be close at hand.
"Dear me!" he ejaculated. "What a fellow I am for losing sight of time; we ought to have started for home an hour ago! Now where can those imps have gone!"
He tramped through the wood and down to the river. There he found the little pile of washed plates and cups. But there was no sign or sound of the children, and Mr. O'Flagherty began to lose his patience. He packed up the cart, harnessed the pony, then shouted till he was hoarse, and said to himself that he would never take two children on a painting expedition again. Finally, having faith in his small son being able to extricate himself from any scrape into which he might have fallen, he pulled out his pipe, made up the fire afresh, and lay down beside it, determining to give them an hour's grace.
The sun went down and darkness came on, and still Mr. O'Flagherty lay under the pines and waited. Sleep overtook him eventually; the fire flickered fitfully before dying out; and the silence in the pine woods was only disturbed by the restless movements of the mare, who could not understand why she was not allowed to go home and find comfort and rest in her warm stable.
Then suddenly through the pines came the thud of small feet and a shrill cry:
"Dad, dad! Where are you?"
In an instant Mr. O'Flagherty was on his feet.
"Here! You spirit of mischief!" he called, and the next moment Dawn was in his arms. "Oh, I thought you'd gone home and left us! Tina is waiting in the cart with a tipsy man and his little girl, and we've had such glorious adventures!"
"And what will Tina's people say to me, you shameless scamp, for keeping her out at this hour! Lead the way, while I follow with the trap. And keep your adventures till we're home. I'd rather not hear them now!"
They reached the high road, and there was the hawker's cart and Christina and Susy sitting hand in hand upon the seat, whilst Susy's father was crouched in the bottom of it.
It did not take long to move Christina, but she would not come till she had taken an affectionate leave of her new friend, and when she was tucked up by Mr. O'Flagherty's side, she called out:
"Good-bye, Susy, and mind you come to our village soon."
Mr. O'Flagherty tossed Susy half a crown, and then whipping up his horse they drove off, and for quite ten minutes both Dawn and Christina were silent, waiting for the scolding that they felt was their due.
It did not come, and at last in a very small voice Dawn said:
"Dad dear, we'd love to tell you our adventures."
"Go ahead then," said his father shortly.
So Dawn began and related truthfully their experiences up to the time when he went to inquire at the cottage about the best way across the river.
"There was only a stupid old woman, but she told us the bridge was a mile off, back on the road we'd left by the signpost, so we had to go all back again, and Tina was very tired, and the bridge never came in sight, and at last I told Tina we must try and get across the river by wading and swimming, and while we were talking, a gentleman drove by in a motor and I called out, and he said he'd take us in. Tina was awfully frightened; she said she had never been in a motor; but it was scrumptious! We flew along, only when we came to the bridge the gentleman was going the other way, not over it, so he put us out."
"And," broke in Christina, "fancy! The other side of the bridge we found Susy. She was driving so slowly because her pony was tired, and she said she would come back with us to the woods. It was very good of her, for she's so hungry and has had no dinner, and has to wait till she gets to a town to get it. I do hope I shall see her again. Dawn told her she was a gipsy, but she said she wasn't. I do like a little girl to talk to, I only have boys."
"They're a jolly sight better than girls," began Dawn indignantly; but his father shut him up.
"It's lucky I brought lamps," he said, "for we're quite benighted. This will be our last outing, Jack-in-the-box! And it's high time you were at school!"
"But I shan't go till after Christmas," chuckled Dawn.
Christina, muffled up in a heavy plaid, began to feel sleepy. Visions of Susy and her drunken father flitted through her brain, and when Bracken Towers was reached she murmured plaintively:
"Oh, don't hit Susy, she's too little, and you're too big!"
Her stepmother received her in the hall, and did not seem disturbed by the lateness of the hour. She had only just returned from a long drive herself, and when Mr. O'Flagherty offered his apologies, she laughed.
"It's all right. It won't hurt the child a mild day like this. When you left word that you would be back at four, I thought it might be six. Your nationality is not famous for accuracy!"
"We can't be fettered," said Mr. O'Flagherty gaily; "but on this scamp of mine rests the blame!"
Father and son drove off. Christina tired but happy climbed the nursery stairs, and confided to Miss Loder the history of her day. But she felt that her governess did not approve of Susy.
"She wasn't a dirty child," said Christina, in her defence. "And she is so clever. She drove her cart so carefully, and she loves her father so; and she says her mother told her to be good to him and keep him from drinking too much beer. And she doesn't mind if he beats her; she's the bravest girl I've ever heard of!"
Christina thought a great deal of Susy the next few days, and when she went to tea with Miss Bertha on Sunday afternoon she talked it all over with her. Taking tea with Miss Bertha had become an institution on Sunday. Miss Loder liked a rest from her small charge; Mrs. Maclahan was quite willing, and Miss Bertha used it as her opportunity to guide small footsteps heavenwards. Dawn and Puggy were often there too; but this Sunday Christina had Miss Bertha to herself, and she was not sorry; for her old problem was puzzling her, and she wanted Miss Bertha's sympathy and help.
"Miss Bertha, I keep thinking that I might have been born Susy!"
"Well, Childie, if you had?"
"I could never, never have done it!" Christina exclaimed, with tightly-clenched hands. "Fancy to-night if I knew my father was coming home to beat me! Oh, Miss Bertha, I should run away from him, I should be so frightened; and Susy loves him, and her arms are black and blue! He has hit her with a poker, and his whip, and even thrown his tin kettle at her. Why, Miss Bertha, she's braver than Joan of Arc! And supposing I had been born her, what should I do!"
A little shiver ran through her.
"If you had been born Susy, you would still have had God as your loving Father," said Miss Bertha. "Does little Susy know about God, do you think?"
"She doesn't know much, for she told me she'd been to Sunday school once, only Saturday and Sunday were the worst days for her father to drink, and so she likes to stay with him."
"Poor little girl, has she no relations or friends?"
"I don't think so. Miss Bertha, if she comes in our village could you, would you ask her to tea? In the kitchen I mean, like you do some of the village children. And will you tell me why God makes some little girls like Susy!"
"Yes, I will certainly have her to tea. I think, Childie, those kind of little girls are meant to be helped by their richer sisters. You have never known what it is to be hungry or cold, and I expect you will never know it; but you can help the little friendless tramps and beggars. That is why God makes rich and poor. If we were all rich, we should have no opportunity to be unselfish and sympathetic and self-denying; if we were all poor, we could not help each other so well."
"I should like to help Susy."
Christina's eyes glowed at the thought.
"What could I do for her?" she added eagerly. "Could I buy her anything? I have some money."
"Let us wait till she appears, then we will see what she wants most. Would you like to knit her a small shawl?"
Christina's face fell. She knew how to knit, but she did not like it, and since Nurse had left, her knitting had been put aside.
"Would she like a shawl?"
"I think she might if she drives in an open cart, or a thick woollen scarf!"
"Yes, I might do that. It wouldn't take so long, and then it would be ready when she came if I started it at once."
Christina looked more cheerful, then she said:
"I s'pose I was made rich to help the poor?"
"Most certainly you were."
"And I've never done it!"
The little girl's eyes were big with wondering thought.
"I got a whole sovereign from father last week. He asked if I had any pocket money, and when I said 'No,' he said he would give that to me to start with. Miss Loder said it was too much. I was going to buy some real china tea things for our den in the turret tower, but I dare say God expected me to help others with it, and that's why he let father give it to me. Could we spend it all on Susy, Miss Bertha? And do you think that one day you would take me into the town and let me spend it in the shops for her?"
"We might spend some of it," said Miss Bertha brightly. "There are several old people in the village, Childie, who are very poor indeed. I have sometimes wondered if you were getting big enough to think about them. They have worked for your family all their lives, and if you sometimes took them a little present—some flowers or fruit or a little tea and sugar—they would be so pleased, and it would be such a pleasure to you."
"Nurse would never let me go into the cottages."
"But Nurse has gone now, and I think your mother will have no objection."
"Mother doesn't mind what I do."
"You see," Miss Bertha went on, "when our Saviour came into the world, He was always kind and good to the poor. He wants us to be like Him."
Christina nodded.
"I'll begin to-morrow. I shall love it. I'll take them all something in turn."
Then after a moment's silence she said sorrowfully.
"God must be very disappointed with me."
"No, I don't think so, darling. It has never been explained to you, and as it is, it is a difficult subject. Little children have to be taught not to give too much, that is as bad as too little, but what I should like you to feel is that the rich and poor are meant to be real friends, and they can both help and teach each other."
"I'm sure Susy could teach me a lot of things," said Christina thoughtfully; "she knows how to cook and mend her father's shirts, she told me so."
"And perhaps you could teach her about God's love to her, and how the Lord Jesus Christ has died for her."
"Don't you think she knows about that?" Christina asked in an awed whisper.
"I dare say she may never have understood it properly."
"Oh, I do hope I shall see her again! You know the village people, Miss Bertha; will you tell them to stop her when she comes driving along, and keep her till I come and see her."
Miss Bertha promised, and Christina left her that afternoon full of new thoughts and projects for the good of the little stranger she had met so casually.
Dawn's departure to London was the next excitement; he came over to say good-bye in his usual good spirits.
"You'll see me with the spring," he assured every one. "Dad pants to be out of London when that comes, and as for me, I get the fidgets in school awful when the buds are coming out. It's in my blood, dad says!"
"Your dad is spoiling you," said Mr. Maclahan, who heard this speech. "You'll stick at nothing as you grow older, if you don't stick to lessons now."
Then Dawn's wonderful eyes became most pathetic.
"My mother died young," he said softly. "Dad says it was the lessons did it. He saw her teaching in a school when he was teaching drawing. She was born to be happy, dad says; he knew it when he looked into her eyes. But she was like a 'flower in the shade,' that's how dad says it; so he took her away to make her happy, and he did it for a year; but it was too late. She'd been worked too hard at lessons; and then God took her to make her happier still. And when she looked at me just before she left me, do you know what she said to dad? 'Keep him in the sunshine, darling; his mother has had too little of it!'"
There was absolute silence when Dawn finished speaking. Mrs. Maclahan had been pouring out tea, for Christina and Dawn were having tea in the drawing-room as a treat. She made a great clatter with the cups and saucers, a sign that she did not wish to speak, and Mr. Maclahan caught up Christina on his knee.
"Here is a little lassie who wants sunshine," he said playfully. "I wish she carried as much upon her face as you do, my boy!"
"I'm Irish and she's Scotch," said Dawn with a superior air. "Dad says the Scotch conscience is a terrible thing for making faces long!"
Mrs. Maclahan began to laugh.
"You and your father are a funny couple," she said. "I don't know what he will make of you by and by."
Dawn went, and Christina missed him intensely. But Miss Loder kept her busy at lessons, and when the play hours dragged, would tell her some of the wonderful stories she concocted out of her brain.
And then one day, just before the Christmas holidays, Susy appeared on the scene.
Christina was curled up on her nursery window seat with a story book. It was nearly four o'clock, and darkness was setting in. Miss Loder was out of the room, and Connie entered rather breathlessly.
"If you please, Miss Christina, there's a little girl at the back door a-keeping asking for you. We've drove her away times without number and she will keep comin' back. She says you told of her to come, and she sells tin kettles and such like, one of them pedlar folk, I should say!"
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I bought it at the fair."
"It's Susy!"
Christina flung down her book and dashed out of the room. Down the back stairs she tore, through the kitchen and out to the yard door. She was so eager, so delighted, that she threw her arms round Susy and kissed and hugged her.
"Oh, I've been waiting for you years!" she exclaimed. "Come up to the schoolroom with me. Come at once."
She dragged the not unwilling Susy upstairs as fast as she had gone down them, and made her sit in Miss Loder's easy chair by the fire.
"Now tell me all you've been doing. Are you still driving your cart, and is your father still half asleep? Oh, I've thought of you so much, and I've got such a lot of things to give you!"
Susy looked a little dazed and uncomfortable. She was even cleaner in appearance than when Christina had first seen her. Her face shone with the amount of soap with which she had scrubbed it; she had on a red plaid frock which was patched at the elbows with blue serge, and a white coarse apron was tied round her waist. Instead of a handkerchief round her head, she wore a black straw hat trimmed with a faded pink rose and a long rusty black feather, which sadly needed curling, and when she saw Christina's eyes rest on this bit of finery she drew her head up with regal pride.
"I bought it at the fair; my dad giv' me 'arfcrown. I got it to come and see you."
"It's very grand," said Christina admiringly, "and I think you look so nice, Susy. Oh, I do hope Miss Loder will ask you to stay to tea!"
Susy's eyes sparkled. She looked round her with interest.
"Where's the boy?" she asked. "Him what wanted you to swim the river. Ain't he with you?"
"No, he doesn't belong to me. He's in London with his father. Are you in our village, Susy? Where do you live now?"
"The fac's is this. Our Tom—the old pony you seed—has got a bad knee, an' he can't go no further, an' dad an' me is puttin' up in the public. We sleeps in the loft, an' pays sixpence a night. We come las' night; but I've had to watch dad, he were so on the booze. Howsumever, he be off to-day round about the village sellin', so I comes off here. My! What a silly lot o' women you have downstairs! They wouldn't b'lieve you an' me was chums!"
Christina was hastily opening her toy cupboard.
"I've been making a collection, Susy. Look! Here's a picture, it isn't in a frame; but I love it and I thought you'd like to hang it up somewhere. It's Jesus on His mother's knee on a donkey; they're going away because of the wicked king who wanted to kill Him. Do you know about it?"
Susy shook her head.
"I know He was a baby once in a cowshed," she said. "They learned me that at Sunday school."
She took the picture, then added confidentially:
"I has a box at the bottom of our cart which is all mine; dad don't know about it. I keeps things to make a 'ome with one day; mother began it, an' I goes on the same. I'll put the pictur' there. I has a bit o' curtain, an' a carpet, an' a chiny dog to put over the mantelshelf, an' a brass candlestick. When dad an' me has made a lot o' money, we'll set up a little 'ouse with a kitchen an' proper oving, an' I'll have cupboards an' drawers, an' won't have no old boxes any more. I makes it up all to myself when I be waitin' for dad."
"I forgot you hadn't got a house," said Christina ruefully; then she produced more of her treasures.
"Here is a pincushion, and a little shoe with a thimble in it, and a lovely bit of green ribbon and two big shells, and a scrapbook and a ring puzzle, and a little china house and a book of fairy stories, and a doll's tea set; and here is a woollen scarf that I've knitted for you. Do you like them, Susy."
Susy's beaming face was sufficient answer.
"I'll tie them all up in my apron, an' thank you kindly. The scarf be bootiful, and 'twill pass the time to look at 'em all an' handle 'em!"
"And, Susy, Miss Bertha wants to see you. She lives in a tiny little cottage like a doll's house, and I love her best in all the world! Will you go and see her? You'll like her so much."
The door opened at this juncture, and Mrs. Maclahan walked in.
"I want to speak to Miss Loder—why, who on earth is this, Tina?"
"It's Susy, the little girl who drove me and Dawn and is so good to her father," explained Christina rather nervously.
It was not very often that her stepmother came to the nursery, and when she did, Christina always held her breath in expectation of what was coming. But since Miss Loder's arrival, Mrs. Maclahan had not had so much to say to her small stepdaughter.
"Is she one of the village children? Oh—ah—I remember, some tramps you met. Does Miss Loder know of this?"
"No," said Christina with scarlet cheeks; "I asked Susy to come and see me, and she came to the back door, and—and so I brought her up here."
Mrs. Maclahan laughed at her confusion and nodded her head. "You're gettin' on, Tina! Feeling your feet at last. But I don't admire this class of friend for you. Ah, here is Miss Loder. Now, we will hear what she thinks of it!"
But when Miss Loder entered, Susy fled; she dashed along the passage into the arms of a maid bringing the schoolroom tea.
"Here, young woman, let me get out o' this. Where is the door? I never did see such a place for passages and doors never, an' I wouldn't a come if I'd knowed she lived with such grand folk!"
Poor Christina witnessed Susy's flight with great disappointment. She was not scolded; for Miss Loder knew by this time how sensitive her little pupil was, but it was represented to her that though she might visit Susy in her home, Susy must never visit her in hers.
"But," pleaded the child sorrowfully, "Susy has no home, she only lives in a cart; and Miss Bertha told me that the rich and poor could be friends, so why can't Susy and me be friends?"
"If it is fine to-morrow, you can run over to Miss Bertha and ask her to befriend this little girl. If she is honest and respectable, Miss Bertha will help her, but she mustn't come here. Your mother doesn't like it."
So Christina had to comfort herself by the thought of Miss Bertha, and went to bed that night praying that God would give Susy a pretty home very soon, and let it be, if possible, in Hatherbrook village.
THE GHOST
THE next afternoon, when lessons were over, Miss Loder and Christina went out for their walk, and the governess was persuaded to call at Miss Bertha's on the way.
They found the old lady in her garden, trying to cut some holly from a very thick tree.
"Ah!" she said with a little sigh. "Why is it so many good things are kept just out of our reach? All the brightest berries are at the top of the tree."
"Let me cut them," said Miss Loder; "I am a little taller than you."
"Thank you, my dear; I have promised some bits to one or two of the village children, and I am getting it this week instead of next, because I don't like to be overpressed."
"Have you seen Susy, Miss Bertha? She is here, and you said you would know her when she came."
Miss Bertha laughed, and nodded at the eager little face uplifted to hers.
"Yes; Susy and I met yesterday afternoon. She told me she had been to see you. We are great friends already, and she is coming to tea this afternoon."
"And isn't she nice, Miss Bertha?"
"I think she is very sensible for her age; would you be allowed to stay to tea to meet her?"
Miss Loder smiled.
"You are safe, Miss Mordaunt; I'm sure Tina will be delighted. I was sorry we could not welcome Miss Susy yesterday more warmly, but neither Mrs. Maclahan or I felt we could take her on Tina's word alone. Her looks were not favourable."
She cut the holly for Miss Bertha; then left Christina with her, and promised to send down Connie to fetch her home at six o'clock.
"Miss Loder always understands," said Christina, waving her hand to her governess as she departed. "She knows how I like being with you; but I'm sorry she didn't quite understand Susy."
That was a very happy afternoon to Christina. Susy arrived in due time, and had a good tea in the kitchen with Lucy. Then she came into Miss Bertha's sitting-room, and Christina and she had a lot to say to each other. Miss Bertha listened to them, and occasionally put in a word. She promised Susy she would come and see her father and talk to him about keeping from the drink, and the little girl's tired eyes lightened with hope.
"I never has no one to back me up!" she said. "I does so much talkin' to him that he be pretty well tired of it, but it 'ud come fresh and strong from you, mum; an' father be wonderful soft an' reasonable when he be sober."
"And if any one can make wicked people good, it's Miss Bertha!" exclaimed Christina with conviction. "Why, even Puggy wants to do what he ought when Miss Bertha talks to him!"
Susy wanted to know who Puggy was, so Christina enlightened her.
"He's coming home for the holidays next week, and then you'll see him."
"I shall be gone; we won't be here Christmas: our hoss be gettin' well fast."
"Oh, but ask your father to stay. We shall have such a lovely Christmas."
Susy's eyes looked a little wistful.
"I ain't seen no lovely Christmases," she said; "it don't make no odds to me!"
"But doesn't your father give you presents? I have always had some, even when I was alone with Nurse with no one living in our house; and now we're going to have a Christmas tree."
"What's that?"
Christina explained, and Susy listened with interest.
"What else do you do on Christmas Day?"
"We go to church."
"I never goes there."
"Not on Sundays, Susy?"
"No, never."
Christina was genuinely shocked.
"But you ought to if you love God."
"I don't know much about God. I hain't never learnt."
"Tell Susy what you know, Childie," and then Miss Bertha left them together.
For a few moments Christina sat silent, wondering what she did know, and then she said:
"God loves us, Susy, you and me, and He asked Jesus Christ to come down from Heaven and die for us, so that we could go there when we die. He was punished for us."
"I don't see!"
Susy spoke determinedly.
"No one will punish me, I know," she added a little defiantly.
"Oh, but we're so awfully naughty," said Christina. "We really aren't fit for Heaven, and God hates sin, Miss Bertha has told me that. Don't you know that hymn:
"And so He died!—and this is whyHe came to be a man and die:The Bible says He came from heavenThat we might have our sins forgiven."
"I like that; say some more."
So Christina went on:
"He knew how wicked man had been,And knew that God must punish sin;So out of pity Jesus saidHe'd bear the punishment instead."Now God will pardon those who pray,And hate their sins, and turn away . . ."
Susy interrupted her quickly.
"I'll take to prayers," she said; "mother used to pray to God, but I've forgotten all about it. What shall I say?"
"I ask God to forgive my sins and make me a good girl and bless father and mother."
"Yes, I'll remember that. Anythink else?"
"Well, you see," said Christina hesitating, "I ask God about all kinds of things just when I think about them. You see, Susy, He knows everything and can do everything, so it is so nice to ask Him things that it's no good asking people about—I mean things that they can't do. I ask God to make me brave, and keep me from being frightened, and when my inside is bumping and my head buzzing, if I pray it seems to make me quiet at once."
"I wonder now," said Susy reflectively, "if God could change father. It would be awful hard; I s'pect it 'ud be too hard for Him!"
"No, I'm sure it wouldn't!"
And Christina's voice was earnestness itself.
"You ask God every day, Susy, till He does it."
Susy nodded gravely, and then, as children will, they suddenly changed the conversation and began to talk about dolls. The time slipped away too fast.
But when Christina came back to her governess, she said:
"I'm going to see Susy every day till she goes, Miss Loder, for she's going to wait at our lodge gate to see me when we go out for our walk."
"And if we don't go out?" said Miss Loder with a smile.
"Oh, but we will; for mother likes me to go when it's raining!"
Sure enough Susy waited every day to catch a glimpse of Christina and exchange a few words with her, but with the advent of Puggy, Christina found it rather difficult to see so much of her little friend.
Miss Loder went home for the Christmas holidays, and Christina was left very much to herself.
Puggy came home in boisterous spirits. He missed Dawn, and persisted in dragging Christina after him wherever he went. He was in the turret room the first thing, and took Christina to task for its neglected, dusty appearance.
"I haven't come up here since Dawn went," she confessed; "it's so lonely!"
"You're afraid of the ghost! You're a funker!"
Christina got scarlet at the accusation.
"My schoolroom is much more comfortable," she said.
"Just like a girl! They always want to be comfortable the first thing!"
He was as energetic as ever in finding occupation for himself and Christina, but they both missed Dawn intensely.
The day before Christmas Eve, Mr. Maclahan called them down to the stables, and showed them in the stalls two small ponies, one grey, one brown.
"They are for each of you," he said, "and Tina can take her choice. It is a Christmas present from me."
Puggy danced with delight. Christina looked doubtfully pleased.
"Must I ride it?" she asked.
"Yes, I am anxious you should be a good rider, and the sooner you begin the better. These are thoroughly quiet little animals, and if you fall, you will not have far to fall. I should recommend the grey one for you, Tina. We'll have the saddles put on at once, and Barker shall take you up and down the drive with a leading rein."
"Not me!" exclaimed Puggy in dismay. "I can stick on anything. We can go off after adventures now, Tina. Why, we can go miles and miles and miles!"
He was on the brown pony directly it was saddled, and galloped down the drive with a shout of delight. Christina trembled and shivered from head to foot when she was mounted; but she bravely fought her fears, and her father watched her with a gleam of tenderness in his eyes. He knew by this time her great timidity, and he did not want a repetition of her first trial on horseback. His wife came out and joined him as Christina was led down the drive at a foot's pace by the old groom.
"She holds herself well," she remarked.
"Stiff with terror," her husband said. "Perhaps it is rather a cruel experiment, at Christmas time too!"
"Oh, nonsense! She is a different child since I came. And Puggy does her all the good in the world. I am so thankful that dreadful old nurse has gone. She would have ruined any child."
"I fancy Christina has some grit in her small composition," said Mr. Maclahan. "She will lose her excessive timidity as she grows older, I hope."
Four times Christina paced the avenue, and then with a sigh of infinite relief she dismounted.
"Ah, Miss Tina," said Barker, "we shall soon have you agoing out hunting. You'll soon be easy on horseback."
"Not hunting the poor little foxes," said Christina, shuddering. "I could never, never do that."
"You ought to have been born a Frenchy," said Puggy, who was standing by and had heard her remark. "You aren't fit to be an English girl!"
"I'm Scotch," said Christina, with a tiny bit of pride in her tone.
"We're just like the map now," said Puggy reflectively. "You and me joined together, and Ireland away from us. I wish he was here now, but Ena says she's going to have the house full, and heaps of people are coming this afternoon, so there will be no room for him."
"I don't like crowds of people."
The children were walking off from the stables together. Puggy was in an excited frame of mind.
"I do," he said, "and I mean to have some fun with some of them. You'll see!"
"When are we going to have the Christmas tree, to-morrow night?"
"Yes; it's a good thing we had our ponies given to us this morning, but if I had been the Squire, I'd have had them trotted in round the tree, it would have been fine!"
"I'd like Susy to see the tree," said Christina thoughtfully.
"Oh, I'm sick of that gipsy girl."
"She isn't a gipsy!"
"No, she isn't as good. She's no fun at all. A gipsy would dance and tell fortunes. Do you know what I think I'll do after Christmas?"
"No; tell me."
"I'll ride off one morning to London and find Dawn. I heard the Squire say this morning it's only thirty miles, and if my pony is a good one, he ought to do that!"
Christina gasped at the very idea.
"You would never get to London," she said; "you'd lose your way, and your pony would be too tired to go on!"
"Ah," retorted Puggy, "you don't know what I can do if I choose! And if you weren't a duffer, you'd ride off with me."
Christina shook her head.
"I could never ride to London; I should fall off my pony again and again. I know I shall fall when I have to ride alone. He shakes me up and down so!"
"You're no good at all."
Christina accepted this statement meekly. She was always hearing it from Puggy's lips and believed it.
But he always found her ready to wait on him and fetch and carry for him, and now there was no Dawn to take her part, he took advantage of her good nature and rather bullied her.
The atmosphere of the house with the bustle and preparation for Christmas guests infected Puggy with mischievous ideas. He was in and out of every room. He locked up the old butler in his pantry for two hours; he seized a big tray and used it as a toboggan down the front stairs; he abstracted tarts and mince pies from the larder, and finally retired to the turret room after the schoolroom tea, and locking himself in, remained in perfect seclusion for an hour and a half.
Christina was in the schoolroom helping Connie to decorate the pictures with holly and evergreen. Downstairs Mr. and Mrs. Maclahan with their guests were just going into dinner, when they were startled by wild shrieks, and two or three maids came tearing along the passages and down the front stairs in a panic of fright.
"The ghost! The ghost in the turret!"
Tipton, the old butler, turned upon them furiously and drove them into the servants' hall. For a moment young Mrs. Maclahan looked really vexed.
"Of course it is Puggy!" she said. "He deserves a good whipping."
"But," said a young girl, Eva Mowbray by name, "I have always heard there is a genuine ghost in this house. Please don't destroy the illusion. It is so respectable to own a ghost."
"I hope that boy won't be playing pranks with Christina," said Mr. Maclahan as he took his seat at the dinner table. "She will not bear much fright I fancy!"
"She is most likely helping him in the invention," his wife said carelessly. "No, Eva, we really don't own a ghost, or else it is taking time to make its appearance. I have seen no signs of it since I have been here."
The subject was dismissed. Other topics took the place of it, and no more disturbance was heard; but when the ladies came into the drawing-room, Tipton asked Mrs. Maclahan if she could speak to the housekeeper for a moment.
"Miss Christina is taken bad," he explained.
There was a little frown between Mrs. Maclahan's eyes as she rustled upstairs to the housekeeper's room. Mrs. Hallam was seated in her chair by the fire, and Christina was upon her lap. Her face was blue and pinched, her teeth chattering, and her eyes dim and glassy.
"Come in, please, ma'am."
Mrs. Hallam's tone was very indignant.
"Master Puggy ought to be well punished for this. He's dressed himself up in sheet and white mask and frightened two of the maids into hysterics by pouncing out upon them from the turret room; and not content with that, he creeps after Miss Tina as she were going along the passage. She have fainted three times, and I don't seem able to bring her round at all."
"Why don't you give her a drop of brandy, you stupid woman! Dear me, what a bother that boy is! Now, Tina, get up, and don't be silly. It's only Puggy's nonsense! He ought to be ashamed of himself! Get some brandy at once, Mrs. Hallam. Where is Connie? She had better be put straight to bed."
Acting as quickly as she talked, Mrs. Maclahan took Christina off to her bedroom, and by dint of rubbing and making her swallow some hot brandy and water the child at length revived. Mrs. Maclahan did not leave her till she was quite herself again, and then told Connie to sit with her till she fell asleep. She went back to her guests, but did not tell her husband of his little daughter's attack till they were on their way to bed.
He was very angry.
"Yes," she said, "Puggy deserves everything you say. He is keeping out of the way now. Give him a good scolding to-morrow morning; but oh, my dear Herbert, it is a pity that Tina is so timid. What can we do with her? She will never get through life like this."
"I must see her at once."
"Don't disturb her. She is most likely asleep."
But Christina was not. Her father found her lying with wet eyelashes and a damp pillow.
Connie was sitting by the fire reading. He dismissed her, then turned to his little daughter.
"Well, Tina," he said cheerfully, "I am afraid that young scamp has given you a big fright. Didn't you know he was dressing up as a ghost? What? You are not crying? Don't be unhappy. It is all over now." He sat down and lifted her out of her bed upon his knee.
Christina buried her face in his shoulder and began to sob.
"I shouldn't cry, my little girl. It is all over now. Don't think about it!"
"But it isn't over," gasped Christina. "It will never be over. It's no good hiding it up. I shall always be afraid, and that's why I'm so—so miserable."
Her father looked puzzled.
"But you know now that it wasn't a real ghost you saw?"
"It wasn't the ghost," sobbed Christina, "it was the being frightened I minded the most. You said I might be the first to disgrace my family and I have!"
Then the cause of Christina's real trouble flashed across her father's mind.
He laughed and kissed her.
"You are a little morbid, over-conscientious goose!" he exclaimed. "Many grown-up people would have been frightened at that boy's trick. No, Christina, you haven't disgraced your family yet. I will tell you when you have!"
He put her back into bed, and Christina, worn out by her fright and misery and comforted by her father's kiss and words, fell asleep.
The next morning Puggy was summoned to the library. He was much astonished to receive a short but thoroughly severe chastisement from Mr. Maclahan, and retired to his bedroom quite crestfallen.
He did not see Christina till dinner time, and when they met, neither made any allusion to the ghost.
"HOW COULD I HELP GOING!"
CHRISTMAS was over. The tree had been quite a success, and though Christina could not get permission to have Susy as a guest, she was allowed to take her some presents from it.
The children were left much alone, owing to the many guests staying in the house. They saw very little of them. Every morning, if fine, Christina went up and down the drive on her grey pony. And to her great delight she was losing her fear, and really feeling at ease in her saddle. Puggy would fly off on his own account. He never seemed to come to harm; though his arms and legs were always liberally supplied with bumps and bruises.
One afternoon the children walked together into the village; Puggy wanted to invest in some putty which he liked to get at the carpenter's shop. He was wonderfully ingenious with his fingers, and modelled all kinds of queer articles from a bit of clay or putty. Christina wanted to get a glimpse of Susy. She knew that she was still in the village, for her father had not been well, and Christina was always afraid that they would go off suddenly, without wishing her good-bye.
As they came up to the outskirts of the village, Christina's quick eyes spied out the hawker's cart and horse standing outside an empty barn.
"Oh, I believe Susy is in the barn," she exclaimed, and then stopped short in terror, for a child's frantic cries rang out:
"Oh, dad, you're killing me! Help! Help! Let me go!"
A shriek of agonizing pain followed.
"He's drunk and he's beating her," announced Puggy.
Like a small whirlwind Christina dashed into the barn. Susy was crying for help, and Susy was in danger. Those two facts were enough for her. She flung herself between Susy and her father and seized her little friend by the arm.
"You're killing her! Stop it!" she cried with blazing eyes.
But the hawker was mad with drink. He had the butt end of his whip in his hand and was belabouring his small daughter most cruelly. Her forehead was cut and bleeding and one of her arms hung by her side as if it were broken. When Christina came in his way, in blind rage he struck out at her and felled her to the ground. Then he seemed to realize what he had done; flinging his whip from him, he staggered out of the barn and stumbling up into his cart drove off, leaving Christina unconscious on the ground and Susy kneeling by her side.
Puggy came in and stood for a moment not knowing what to do.
"She's dead, she's dead!" cried Susy. "And 'twas trying to save me. Oh, bring a doctor quick, quick! 'Twas just like this mother got the blow she died of."
Puggy tore up the village then for his life, and soon returned with the two first persons whom he met, Miss Bertha and the blacksmith.
"She's only stunned, I think," said Miss Bertha cheerfully, trying to reassure herself and the two children. "Bring her to my house, Taylor, I am not far away; and, Puggy, you run to Doctor Randal's. He is home, fortunately. I saw him drive in just now. Why, Susy, little woman, you're in a bad way! You must come with me too. We'll soon put you both right, please God. Come along."
Cheery Miss Bertha led the way to her small cottage, Taylor the blacksmith carrying Christina in his arms.
"That fellow ought to be in gaol!" he remarked. "He'll kill his child before he's done with her, and now he's had the impudence to attack Missy. What 'll the Squire say, I'm thinkin'!"
"I think you might send one of your boys with a message to him, but don't alarm them too much. Tell them she is with me, and I will do all that is necessary."
"I expect the young gent will have got there already," said the blacksmith.
"Ah yes! I forgot him. Then it will be all right."
Miss Bertha's tiny cottage was soon reached; and Christina was lifted on to her own bed, whilst the good Lucy attended to Susy.
The doctor arrived very shortly, and before very long Christina opened her eyes. She had received a very nasty blow, and Dr. Randal advised her being put straight to bed and kept as quiet as possible.
Susy's arm was set, for a bone in it was broken; and the doctor declared that her father ought to be committed to gaol before he did any more mischief.
But she looked up pitifully at him as he spoke, saying, "He's my father; sir, 'tis only the drink. He's awful sorry when he's sober."
And Dr. Randal fore-bore to say more in her presence.
Mr. Maclahan came down to the cottage almost immediately after the doctor had left, but Miss Bertha begged him not to disturb his child.
"She is quite comfortable and going off to sleep; we feel that is the best thing for her. Dr. Randal advises that she should not be moved. I hope you will let me have the pleasure of keeping her. I will take the utmost care of her."
"Do you know how it happened? Where is the rascal that dared raise his hand against her? A delicate, highly-strung child like that to be subjected to such brutal treatment! I would like to give him a sound thrashing!"
"She interfered on her little friend's behalf, I gather, from Puggy's account. There is not much doubt about her pluck, is there? I always felt that she had a reserve force of which she herself knew nothing. Are you determined to see her? Come this way and step softly, so as not to disturb her."
Maclahan went into the bedroom, and looked at his sleeping child with tender eyes. Then he came out, wrung Miss Bertha's hand gratefully and strode off down the village in search for the drunken hawker.
When Christina woke up the nest morning, beyond an aching head there was not much the matter with her. Her first thought was of Susy.
"Where is she, please? Oh, she was dreadfully hurt, I know she was!"
"She is getting on comfortably," said Miss Bertha—"in fact, if you are very good, you shall see her this afternoon. She is staying in the house. I have two little guests, you see."
But later on, when Miss Bertha went to find Susy, she was missing. And Lucy put a slip of paper into her mistress' hand.
"'Tis rather a scrawl, ma'am. Perhaps you may be able to make it out. I'm afraid she's slipped off after her father. She's been in a rare taking over him, and seemed wonderful set on seeing Miss Christina this morning. I said to her that she couldn't be disturbed.
"'I should like to thank her! I should like to thank her!' she kept repeating.
"I said she would be able to do it later on.
"And she shook her head, 'I can't wait. It will be too late!'
"I didn't know what she was meaning, but now I see she meant to go off. 'Tis very ungrateful, and she's not fit to tramp off yet awhile!"
Miss Bertha took the bit of paper. It was badly written and badly spelt, but tears were in her eyes as she deciphered it.
"I thanks you all, hand my biggest thanks to Miss Tener for I nose her luvs me, hand I luvs her for evermor, but dad as nobuddy and i must fin him and luv him lik muther toled me i was to and I ses good by for we wonte be bak here agen for the perlesse will katch him Loosee said dad wud be kort, and he don't mene to hert."SUSY."
She showed the paper to Christina, who looked at it long and earnestly. When she raised her eyes to Miss Bertha's, they were glowing with enthusiasm.
"Susy is the bravest girl in the whole world I believe, isn't she, Miss Bertha? I think she's quite as brave as Joan of Arc!"
Miss Bertha gave one of her happy laughs.
"And what about you, Childie?"
"Oh, I couldn't do it!"
Christina's tone was passionate in its earnestness.
"If I was to find myself turned into Susy, I should run away as fast as I could from my father, and that would be dreadfully wicked, wouldn't it?"
"Then, darling, what made you go up to him as you did?"
"Oh, but that was different. Oh, Miss Bertha, he was killing poor Susy; I really thought he was. I had to get her away from him. How could I help going?"
Miss Bertha was silent, then she laid her hand on Christina's head and said very softly and reverently:
"'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends!' You understand that principle, Childie. We must not let any one call you a little coward after this."
Christina looked puzzled. She was still more so after a visit from her stepmother and Puggy.
Mrs. Maclahan put her hand under her chin and raised her face to hers.
"Let us have a look at you! Do you know the whole village has made you into a heroine? It's a pity Puggy here wasn't a little more prompt. I would rather have heard that he had accomplished the rescue than you! How did you do it, Tina? I shall begin to think your timidity is all humbug. What do you say, Miss Bertha?"
"Dawn knows Christina better than any of us," said Miss Bertha quietly. He says: "Christina is frightened, but she doesn't funk!"
Mrs. Maclahan nodded brightly.
"Well her father is quite proud of her. He puts it down to Scotch blood. Why is it, Miss Bertha, that the Scotch think themselves so immeasurably superior to us poor English? I tell my husband that I wonder he ever condescended to marry me; but I suppose he considers that an inferior wife is only what is right and proper! What big eyes, Tina! I'm sure you don't understand a word of my talk, do you? How's the poor head?"
"Oh, she is getting on very well, only I want to have the pleasure of nursing her for a few days," said Miss Bertha.
"It's very good of you. She seems quite happy. Now, Puggy, stay and talk to her a little, and, Miss Bertha, take me round your garden. I hear your violets are appearing even now."
Miss Bertha took Mrs. Maclahan round, talking as she went of many things. When Mrs. Maclahan eventually took her leave, she said impulsively:
"I wish I had what you have. I always feel so ignorant when I'm with you. And how is it you get the children's love? My riotous Puggy, who scorns most women-folk, thinks all the world of you."
"Perhaps because I think all the world of him!" said Miss Bertha, smiling. "I could not be happy without flowers and children."
Search was made at once for Susy and her father, but both of them had disappeared. Whether the child had come across her father on the road, or whether she had tramped along on his track, remained a question. It was pretty certain that they had left the beaten road and taken to by-lanes.
Christina was bitterly disappointed, but was quite positive that she would see Susy again.
"I'm sure I shall," she asserted. "Susy told me they often came past our village, and they'll come past it again, and perhaps one day, Miss Bertha, God will make Susy's father a good man. He can, can't He? And Susy and I are both asking Him to do it. And then he'll give up drinking and p'r'aps live in a little cottage and go to church on Sundays and be kind to Susy."
"Yes, pray on, Childie. Nothing is impossible with God," said Miss Bertha with her cheery little nod.
Christina thoroughly enjoyed her week with Miss Bertha. She trotted about the house and delighted in making herself useful, helping Lucy to dust, feeding Miss Bertha's fowls, and weeding the gravel paths in the little garden.
"There's nothing I can do at home," she confided to Miss Bertha, "because we have too many servants. There's our turret room—Puggy and I scrubbed and cleaned that out the other day; but Connie scolded me because I got my pinafore wet, and said I oughtn't to do it. I wish we lived in a little cottage like this!"
"You are a happy little girl as you are; don't wish for what you have not got."
The day Christina returned home she was greeted by Puggy vociferously.
"I'm just longing to tell you the news! We're all going up to London. Think of that! And we shall see Dawn and go sight-seeing. And we're going to-morrow. Hurray!"
Christina could hardly believe it. She had never in all her life been away from her home, and at first the terrors of the unknown seized hold of her.
"Isn't London a very full place, Puggy?" she asked timidly, as the two children sat down to their schoolroom tea. "I've heard Nurse say there was no room to walk in the streets, because there were such a lot of people!"
"Yes, it's crowded, that makes the fun," was the reply.
"And trains and omnibuses and carts are all rushing about everywhere!" continued Christina with a sinking heart.
"Yes, and policemen stand in the middle of the streets to help people cross, and the shops are ripping, and we're going to stay at a hotel!"
"What's that?"
"Fancy not knowing what a hotel is like! It's a place with huge rooms to live in and jolly good grub to eat, and any amount of people coming and going."
"I like little houses better than big ones," announced Christina. "I think I shall be afraid of so many people."
"Oh, you're afraid of everything—at least—" Puggy pulled himself up. "I promised the Squire I wouldn't say that to you; but you're an awfully queer girl, Tina. You're afraid of such a lot of silly things, and not afraid when you ought to be!"
"Go on and tell me more about London," said Christina hastily. "Shall we see Dawn, do you think?"
"Of course we shall. Ena says we can have him to lunch one day at the hotel if we like. Why, it'll be too jolly for anything!"
"Well, I'll try to like it," said Christina, resolving to swallow her fears and only think of the pleasure of seeing Dawn again.
She found Connie full of delight and importance at being included in the party.
"The mistress has told me I'm to be your maid and look after you, and as long as I don't have to manage Master Puggy I don't care. I've never been to London in my life. It'll be a great thing for me!"
Christina hardly understood how it was that every one that evening seemed to make so much of her. To her mind, what she had done for Susy seemed only what any one would have done. She did not consider herself a heroine, but the servants and even her father and mother alluded to it with pride in their tones, and all received her back with the warmest welcome. Mrs. Hallam, who seldom had much to say to the little girl, stooped and kissed her when she saw her.
"We're thankful to see you none the worse for that brute's blow!" she said. "And we're proud of you, Miss Tina; to think you stood up against the cowardly bully, when there's many a grown person would have thought twice of interfering with a man mad with drink!"
"But Susy was being hurt!" Christina exclaimed. "You wouldn't have let her be hurt if you'd been there, Mrs. Hallam!"
Mrs. Hallam made no reply. She did not feel at all sure in her own mind that she would have interfered.
"I should have sent the policeman," she agreed to herself. "What's the good of having one in the village if he's not to the fore at such times!"
When Christina was in bed that night her father came up to wish her good-night.
"Is the head all right?" he asked. "Because you will want to be fit in London. No headache now?"
"No father."
Christina took hold of his hand and put it between her cheek and the pillow.
"You're going to be with us in London to take care of us, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes, I am, I believe," her father replied, smiling.
"Oh!" said Christina, looking up at him with deep feeling. "What should I do if I had to take care of you, instead of you taking care of me!"
Her father laughed heartily.
Christina blushed, then hastened to explain herself.
"Susy's father never takes care of her—never! She has to look after him. Don't you think Susy a wonderful girl, father?"
"I think she is a poor little unfortunate child, and the sooner she is taken away from her father the better, I should say! But I want you to put those people clean out of your head, Christina; don't give them a thought! Forget them altogether."
"But," said Christina slowly, "Susy is in my heart, not in my head, and I can't put her out from there. I love her, father, and we mean to sit next to each other in Heaven if God will let us; do you think He will, father?"
"Those are questions for Miss Bertha, not for me," said her father hastily, and then he wished her good-night and left her.